


theres a reason

by Anonymous



Series: anon's angsty sbi stuff :) [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Beta, Self Harm, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, more tags added later sorry, we die like lmanburg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: tommy has never been the best at the whole family thing, so when phil fosters him, hes a little hestitant. the two other weird boys living in the house doesnt make it better.tw: self harm, suicide, referenced abuse.title from Jubilee Line by Wilbur
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: anon's angsty sbi stuff :) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191284
Comments: 83
Kudos: 984
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first SBI fanfic, and im only really writing it to cope with my existential loneliness!

Tommy was pissed. It had only been three weeks in the care home, and he was already being shipped out again. It’s not that he liked his care home, he can’t stand it really, but he hated being sent off to new people, who collected foster kids like shitty dolls, only to be sent right back when they found out how truly broken he was.

Miranda was the owner of the care home, but Tommy was the oldest, which made him the de facto leader. Admittedly, he was a bit of a dick, but he always made sure the kids never went hungry and would do anything he needed to to make sure they ate, and had warm and (usually) clean clothes. Miranda took care of them sure, but there was never enough for everyone, and she was forgetful, so she tended to forget to go out and buy food. 

“Tom,” Miranda almost pleaded, “They’re a nice family. It’s just him and his two boys, they live a little ways outside a small city. A week, that’s all I ask dear.”

He rolled his eyes in response. His longest time in a home, that wasn’t his biological family, was a month. After they found Tommy sobbing in his room with a bloody clump of toilet paper and a razor, they sent him back. They never did tell Miranda why, only saying it wouldn’t work out. 

“Tom, please. I know you like it here-”

“I don’t, but I’d rather be here with the kids than with a random guy and his creepy kids.”

“Just speak on the phone with Phil? Please?”

“Fine.”

* * *

The phone call was scheduled for the next day around lunch time, which meant the kids would either be eating early, or eating late. That was his excuse for not wanting to do it, at least.

It had started out nice enough, but then he heard yelling from the other end of the phone. 

“Dad! What the fuck is happening! Why’s there a child on the landline?”

Tommy flinched, yelling had always been a trigger.

“One second, please.” The man, Phil, said softly before presumably muting himself.

A few seconds later he was back, pushing out a forced laugh.

“Sorry about that Tom! That was-”

“I go by Tommy.”

“Pardon?”

“I go by Tommy. You called me Tom.”

“Ah, ok, my apologies.”

Tommy thought it seemed genuine. Only his mother had called him Tom. His mother had ruffled his hair and called him Tom right before-

“Tommy? You with me?”

Phil. It was Phil.

“Oh, yes sir. Sorry, I got distracted.” 

Miranda just sighed. 

“Ok gentlemen, I have another phone call in 10 minutes. Phil, Tommy, would you like to give this a try? Just for a week and see how it goes?”

“That’s up to Tommy. I think my boys would get along with him, and it’d be a joy to have him in our home.”

“I think,” he whispers to himself before speaking again, “I think I’d like to give it a try.”

“Amazing. Miranda, what time should we drop by to pick him up”

While the two adults talked out the details, Tommy just focused on the itchy fabric beneath his hands, the way it made him feel, the way it made his skin crawl. Before he knew it, Miranda was ushering him out quietly, telling him a time to be ready, but it didn’t register. As he wandered into the kitchen, shivering from nerves, a little girl ran up to him.

“Tommy!” 

He picked her up and spinned her around, setting her on his hip. This little girl was small, too small, for her age. She was 4 (4 and a half if you asked her about it).

“Hello Jaime! How are we today little bee?”

The girl giggled at the nickname, bouncing up and down slightly.

“Oof, love, a little less jumpin’, it hurts a little.”

“M’kay. Peter says you’re leavin’ tomorrow. Are you?”

He just let out a deep breath and pondered for a second on how to answer that.

“I am. Only for a week or so, hopefully. I’ll be back before you know it.” He tapped her nose as he finished the sentence, making her giggle. 

“M’kay. Since there’s no school, it’s gonna be a lot more borin’ without you!”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to entertain yourself. One that doesn’t involve stressing Ms. Miranda out, hm?”

The little girl just pouted and started wiggling to be put down. Right after her feet hit the floor, she tugged at his shirt.

“Yes tiny?”

“When are you leavin’?”

“Tomorrow around lunch I think.”

With that, she scampered off, giggling as she turned the corner too fast and almost fell.

* * *

  
  


The next day came simultaneously too quickly and too slow. 

His night was spent packing and crying, and maybe some picking at scars that hadn’t fully healed over. He had been clean for 3 weeks. A relapse was due after his environment was switched so quickly. He decided he would go ahead and pack his razors, as they would need to be at the bottom of the bag. He pulled them out from the bottom of the mattress and shoved them under the thin layer of clothes already packed.

He only had about 3 days worth of clothes. He always brought extra socks, just in case he had to run. 

By 3 am, he was exhausted and laying on the floor of his small room. Usually, kids had to share rooms, but since he was the oldest, got his own. 

The last boy who had his room, Walker, hung himself in there. That’s when he became the oldest. Miranda had sent him in to grab him for dinner, and there he was, hanging from the ceiling fan. Tommy didn’t scream. He didn’t cry, not until he was alone. He calmly called for Miranda and left to deal with the children. 

They were confused, and scared, and crying as the paramedics carried Walker out. The social workers came and went, interviewing each kids, asking them if Miranda ever touched them, if they were eating enough, if they ever wanted to hurt themselves.

That was three years ago, and all Tommy can remember is walking in, seeing the cuts, which he later thought made his arms look like candy canes, and then looking up and seeing Walker's face. He looked tired even in his death. 

* * *

  
  


The afternoon came too quickly for Tommy’s liking. He was sat in his room, going through the mental check-list. 

“Tommy! They’re here!”

Tommy stood, shaking, and grabbed his bag. As he walked down the stairs of the small house, he could hear Phil and Miranda make small talk.

When he reached the base of the stairs, he took in the sight. There were three men. One of which, he assumed, was Phil. He looked normal enough.. 

The taller (by just a bit), had a yellow sweater and a black beanie on. He looked bored as he stood there, arms crossed in front of his chest. The other one was, by far, the weirder. He had shoulder-length light pink hair that got in his face. He was leaning against the wall reading what looked like The Communist Manifesto.

“So you’re the little fuckin’ gremlin, huh?” Beanie dude said.

“Jesus Wilbur, have a little respect, maybe he’ll want to stay with us then.” Phil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy spends the car ride pondering the homes he had been in and how his time in them came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for taking so long to update! there was a situation where im from that caused the wifi to go out. i also had no motivation. 
> 
> trigger warning in this chapter for mentions of abuse and self harm.

Tommy snorted and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a gremlin dickhead, and I’m not little.” 

The pink-haired boy suddenly looked up, closing his book and clutching it to his chest. It was, in fact, The Communist Manifesto.

“Hey, I’m Tommy,” He said reaching his hand out.

“Techno doesn’t do handshakes, sorry man.” Phil chimed in, putting his arm around the pink-haired boy. 

“Who the fucks Techno?” 

“I am, ‘s my name.” He piped up, his voice deep and monotone.

“Don’t question it, dude,” Wilbur said, reaching for Tommy’s bag.

“The fuck man,” Tommy responded, pulling his bag back. “Don’t touch my shit.”

“Less of the language, Tommy, the little ones are out,” Miranda said, looking up from her laptop.

“Yeah, Tommy, the little ones are out!” 

“Wilbur, c’mon dude, don’t be a di- a jerk. We want him to like us.” Phil sighed.

After the paperwork was signed and Tommy said goodbye to Jaime and Miranda, they piled into the car.

“Right Tommy, do you get carsick?” Phil asked, turning and walking backward.

“Not really.” The question confused Tommy, no one had ever cared enough to ask something like that.

“Brilliant, Techno, you want shotgun?”

“The fuck Dad, you’re stickin’ me in the back with the fucking kid?”

Tommy tensed. He had been in a home with unkind people before. He had been in a home with people who obviously didn’t want kids, and just wanted the money. The language around an adult,  _ the adult _ , was stressful enough. He knew he could curse around Phil when he was in front of Miranda, no way he could hit Tommy then, but in private? It was risky even then, you never knew when foster parents could codeswitch, he couldn’t believe he let such profane language slip in front of an adult he didn’t know or trust yet. Truth be told, Tommy wasn’t fully convinced on being able to trust any adult.

“Wil, please.”

“God fine.”

Tommy didn’t have a phone. He’d never had one, so when Phil asked for his number so they could contact each other in case of emergency, he didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t have a phone.” He decided on responding after a beat or two of silence.

"Ah, understandable. We'll have to fix that."

Tommy was astounded by his kindness. No one had ever even thought of buying him a phone.

"Oh, no, you don't have to, those cost-"

"Don't worry about money when it comes to Phil." Wilbur piped up. "He's willing to spend bank on some fucked up foster kids."

Phil rolled his eyes at the boy while Tommy panicked. Why would he say such a blatantly disrespectful thing? Why wasn't he being hit for it?

"Ok Wil, be a dick all you want, but it's not true. I have enough money to support a four-person family comfortably." 

Tommy was still tensed. He was sure Wilbur could sense it, but that could just be his constant intense feeling of dread and suspicion.

Phil looked into the rearview mirror concerned.

“You doin’ ok Tommy? You getting car sick?”

“Oh, no sir. ‘M just a bit tired ‘s all. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Phil nodded and told him he could sleep in the car. Tommy wasn’t convinced he could. You never know what adults will pull, especially when they have two teens who they seemingly get along with.

So he pretended to sleep. He pretended to sleep and counted all the ways he had ruined good homes. 

The list formed in his head, slowly but surely.

Once he bitched about doing dishes, the texture made his skin crawl. He had gotten a plate thrown at his head for that. It didn’t hit him, but he asked to go back to the care home anyways. He never did say why. At night, when he was tired, and sad, and contemplative, he would worry if another child had been in his situation. If maybe, the plate had hit them. It would’ve been his fault, wouldn't it? If an innocent kid got hurt for something Tommy didn’t report like he was supposed to.

That one time the biological child of the foster parents had caught him staring in the mirror at his sunken eyes and messy hair. The girl had been scared (rightfully so, he thought bitterly, he probably looked like a zombie or some shit), and Tommy had been sent back. 

The fucking cutting incident. It had been a long month. The kids at the house were awful. They were, again, the parents' biological kids. 3 of them. The youngest and middle ones verbally belittled Tommy. He was ok with that, he was used to it, but it crossed a line when the oldest shoved him into a wall. That’s when he had snapped, so to speak. He was in the middle of cleaning up his bloody mess when the mother walked in. Her jaw dropped to the floor as she gasped for air like a stranded fish. He had received a long talking to about self-harm and the Bible and how “cowardly” it was for him to do this to them. They had taken him in, given him a home, and here he was, stealing their things and slicing his skin open.

They never told Miranda why they would no longer have a space in their house for him. At least, not one that shared his secret. He supposed maybe it would’ve been better if they had. Maybe he could have gotten help. The real question he asked himself, from time to time, is if he deserved health. He didn’t know if he did, to be honest.

Suddenly, he was being shaken. He jumped, startled, and immediately positioned himself to be as defensive as possible whilst sitting down.

“Christ man, just wanted to tell you we’re at the house.” 

It was Wilbur.

“Couldn’t have just bloody told me?”

“Tried that,” Techno said while he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. “You didn’t respond.”

Tommy slowly got out of the car, he stretched, his body not being used to such long car rides in such a cramped position. 

“Welcome home, Tommy,” Phil said, patting him on the back, 

Tommy stared up at his new home and slowly made his way to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy settles in to his new home and doesnt cope well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: semi-graphic depiction of self harm, mentioned drug and alcohol abuse.
> 
> if youre dealing with self-harm and cant recieve professional help, please confide in a trusted adult or even just a friend. do not use toilet paper, as tommy does, to clean up. it will get stuck in the cuts.
> 
> hotlines: 
> 
> Mental Health America Hotline: Text MHA to 741741.  
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.  
> Crisis Text Line: Text CONNECT to 741741. (a personal favorite, as phone calls, make me anxious)  
> The Samaritans: 1-212-673-3000.  
> Veterans Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255. Text a message to 838255.  
> Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA): (800) 662-4357
> 
> thank you so much for all the love! i dont mean to be rude when i dont respond to comments, i just get nervous responding to them. the comments are making my day!! i love knowing that people enjoy my writing, as i hope to one day be an author and am even working on a novel right now.
> 
> stay safe all, and a happy new year!

As he walked into the threshold, he immediately took note of any quick exit spots and places to hide. There was nothing he could see on his initial scan, which was good, means he could hide even better. 

Techno led Tommy to his room, staying silent. He was pleased with that, talking wasn’t something he wanted to do right now. 

He was feeling so much. He knew what would happen tonight. He also knew it wasn’t healthy. He knew it could form an addiction. He knew he was probably already addicted. 

When Tommy entered his room, he turned to Techno expecting him to say something. He didn’t. What was there to say? “Welcome to a random house, Wilbur hates you and I am a communist.”

“Dinner’s at 7:30 every night. You don’t need to help or anything, but we do rotate who does dishes. Phil’ll fill you in on everything else, rules ‘n all. Did you eat lunch?”

Tommy nodded (although it was a lie) and turned to the small room. It was quaint, sure, but nice. It had a full bed with a light blue comforter and a small desk in the corner. He wondered if the window would open. He was on the second floor, but he knew how to land with minimal damage. If need be, he thought he could get at least to a bus stop, and then he could get as far away as possible.

“Cool. See ya.”

Tommy grunted in response.

As he unpacked his few possessions, he looked at the best spot to hide his razors. He decided to hide it at the back of the drawer in the desk for right now. 

He heard a knock on his door and jumped, dropping the razors in the back with a small noise.

“Shit, come in.”

It was Phil. The man stared carefully, taking in Tommy's unusual positioning.

"Hey. Listen, Miranda told me about Walker and-"

"I don't want to talk about him. I don't talk about him. Not to anyone."

Phil raised his hands, like two white flags next to his head. 

  
  


"That's fine, but you can talk to me about him if you'd like. I'm sure Techno told you dinner's at 7:30?"

Tommy nodded, eager to continue unpacking.

"Right. Any questions?"

He shook his head. Phil smiled and walked out in response.

  
  


By the time it was 7:30, Tommy was astronomically stressed. A new home, new people, new noises, it was scary. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from cutting tonight. He always wore long sleeve shirts. No one could know he hurt himself.

“Dinner time boys!”

Tommy was shocked out of his thoughts. 

He slowly walked down the stairs, taking a deep breath. 

Dinner was a little chaotic, but towards the end it was quiet. Techno and Wilbur had gone into town before they went and picked him up and Techno had to break up a fight between two people apparently named Quackity and Schlatt. Something about a messy divorce, which Techno said was a joke taken too far. As it slowed down, Tommy remembered he and Phil still had to go over rules.

“Hey Tommy, wanna go over some rules now?” Phil asked while they cleaned up the kitchen.

“Sure.” Tommy didn’t understand why it mattered. He’d be out of here in a week.

“Brilliant. Rule 1 is no drinking or drugs. Miranda didn’t mention anything about addiction, but if that’s an issue, I can find a place for you to get help.”

Tommy was taken aback. Sure, he knew people who had been alcoholics and junkies, but he’d never actually touched alcohol or so much as touched anything harder than weed, which he hadn't even smoked. It also surprised him that Phil seemed genuinely invested in getting him help if he needed it.

“I don’t drink or do drugs.”

“Good. Rule 2 is that we all do chores around here. Tonight’s my night to do dishes, then it goes Wil, Techno, and now that you’re here, you. We do our own laundry, as well. If you use fabric softener, we have some, but really only Wil uses it for his sweaters. Techno takes out the garbage and Wilbur does recycling, but they switch from time to time. All you need to do, besides dishes and laundry, is water the flowers. I’ll show you where the hose is tomorrow.”

Tommy nodded, mentally putting the schedule tomorrow for the rest of his time there.

“Rule 3 is just be home by 10. You don’t really know anyone here, so that shouldn’t be too big a deal. We’re all night-owls, so there’s no set bedtime but keep the volume down on things past 11. I usually go to bed around 11:30, but if you need anything after that, you can wake me up, but I’ll warn you, I sleep like a rock. Techno is usually up pretty late and he’s a light sleeper, so if it’s something small, you can wake him up or just go to his room.

“Rule 4 is don’t fight with Techno physically. He may not look it, but he’s strong. Also just don't be a dick to him or Wilbur. Just a random thing, you can curse all you want but we don't do slurs here. You can curse at us as long as you’re not being too much of a dick,” After a moment of contemplation, he adds, “I think that’s all. Any questions?”

Tommy shook his head and stood from where he was sitting.

“Hey, man,” Phil called with a friendly smile as he made his way to the stairs, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

As Tommy made his way upstairs, he felt his heart pounding more and more. He was panicking. He was about to spend the night, and the next 6 nights, in a strange house with people he barely knew.

So he coped the only way he knew how. He went to the restroom and grabbed a roll of toilet paper for clean up. 

As he collected his “supplies” his heart was beating faster and faster. It was pounding in his ears like a sadistic drum line.

He sat on what, for now, was his bed and pulled his t-shirt off. It made things easier. As he opened the box, the rational part of his brain began begging him to put it away. To go speak to Phil. To tell him Walker and his death hurt him more than he let one. But he didn’t.

When he made the first cut, it was like the world immediately cleared. It hurt, sure, that was sort of the point, but the pain made the world clear, not as fuzzy as it was earlier.

He only made about 10 cuts. A minuscule amount compared to the scars that line his thighs and other arm. As he cleaned up, he slowly became more and more tired. After flushing the remaining toilet paper, he slid into his bed, his t-shirt scratching at his fresh cuts, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy goes to the store, then tries to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: implied/referenced self-harm. semi-graphically discussed suicide
> 
> happy new year everyone! i'm starting school again which means my updates will either come way more frequently as i attempt to cope with my failure, or less frequently as i try to get my grades up.
> 
> this chapter may be my favorite so far, although i essentially wrote it all tonight.

He woke up to someone at his door.

“Shit,” he said, sitting up straight as a board, “Who’s there? Don’t come in.”

“Jesus,” Wilbur. “It’s just me. Don’t worry, I won’t come in if you’re beatin-”

“Shut the fuck up before I decapitate you with your own kneecaps.”

Wilbur just snorted.

“Test me. I dare you. I’ve been in the system for 11 years. I could kill you with a paper-clip.”

“I was in there for 6, I think I can do about as much damage.”

So they’re doing a trauma-off? They might as well. 

“You can come in if we’re going to be comparing traumas. I’m 90% sure I’ll win.”

Wilbur stepped in, suspiciously. 

“Who said we’re comparing traumas? And how do you know I won’t win.”

“I dunno, it might be too early for this, boys.”

Phil was behind Wilbur in the doorframe. 

“Jesus fuck dude, you scared me.” Tommy exclaimed, rubbing his forehead.

“Sorry Tommy. We’re gonna go to the store to grab you some stuff for your room and some clothes, ok?”

That surprised the boy. 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to buy me anything. I have enough clothes and-”

“Nope. No arguing.”

* * *

  
  


As they sat in the car, just Phil and Tommy, they listened to a radio station Tommy didn’t recognize. 

“What is this?”

“It’s NPR, I think _Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me_ , is on. Want me to turn it up?”

The boy shrugged, turning to look outside the window.

* * *

  
  


Once they got to the store, Tommy mentally decided not to spend too much money. It was a large department store, which meant him and Phil would probably split up. Perfect, maybe he could nick somethings off the shelves. 

“Right, where do you want to go first?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I can just find you-”

“You’ll only buy cheap shit that will fall apart in a few months. Not fuckin’ hapenning.”

Tommy accidentally let out a little giggle at the way those passing turned to stare at Phil. 

“C’mon, let’s get you some clothes.”

  
  


As they walked through the store, Tommy kept his hands held tight at his sides in little fists. He needed to wait until Phil’s back was turned, then he could steal something. He wasn’t addicted, per se, (although he knew that could happen), but he found it hard to restrain himself. The rush he got from it almost made his head spin.

“What’s up with your hands, dude?’

Tommy was shaken from staring at the colourful selection of t-shirts but Phil’s sudden observation.

“Nothin’ big man, just a force of habit. Growing up in foster care will do that for you.”

“Tommy-” Phil just sighed before cutting himself off and taking a small, grounding breath. “You’re allowed to talk about your trauma in a way that’s not joking. You can talk to me, or either of the twins.”

“They’re fuckin’ twins?” Tommy knew he had to deflect. No emotions until he was taking care of himself later. “Jesus I didn’t even notice.”

“Yeah they’re twins. They’ll probably try to fool you with some telepathy shit later, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyways, what I'm saying is that-”

“I don’t do emotions. I don’t talk about my emotions. People who are fine don’t need to do that, and I’m fine so I don’t need to.” Tommy knew it probably sounded like bullshit. He knew Phil could see right through it, but he didn’t care. His arm was hurting and he was tired. He just wanted to sleep.

“Tommy that’s not healthy.”

The fluorescent lights were starting to get to the boy. He thought he could hear them buzzing and he hated it. 

“Just fuck off, yeah? I’m fine. I just want to get some clothes or whatever other bullshit I need and get the fuck out’ve here. The lights are fucking annoying and I’m tired as shit.”

“Ok, Tommy, ok. Let’s grab a few more pairs of shorts and then we’ll go.”

* * *

  
  
  


The car ride home was even more tense. God, Tommy just wanted to sleep. Every bump in the road brought him closer to tears and if anyone so much as patted him on the back right now, he thought he might scream. 

His hand accidentally brushed against Phil’s while they grabbed the bags from the boot. He flinched as his eyes welled up with tears. He was done with this shit. He decided to bolt for the backyard and hope he could make it somewhere else.

  
  


It would’ve worked too, if Techno and Wilbur hadn't been practicing sparring in the backyard.

“Motherfucker!” Tommy cried out as Techno borderline tackled him. His cut arm was pressed against the grass and he ran a serious risk of the cuts opening and blood being visible through his gray shirt. “Get the fuck off of me, you rat-bastard, please, fuck!”

He was almost sobbing by now, the touch unwelcome and unexpected. As Techno scrambled up, Tommy also moved.

Phil was in the backyard, panting and bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Christ above, Tommy, don’t do that again please. Fuckin’ hell I’m out’ve shape Jesus Christ.” 

Tommy moved backwards, to rest against a large tree. 

“Miranda didn’t mention me being a fuckin’ flight-risk?” He almost spat out, tears still spilling. “I would’ve expected a heads-up, what with my history of running. Of course she never remembers to do anything that fucking idiot.”

The three Watsons in the yard were staring at Tommy. Sure the boy had cursed a bit in front of them, but never like this. 

Tommy had almost forgot they were there by the time Phil spoke up.

“Would you like some tea, Tommy? I always find things are made easier with a nice cup of tea.”

* * *

Phil poured Tommy a cup of tea. It was just the two of them, now. Wilbur and Techno had resumed their sparring.

“Wanna talk about what that was?” Phil asked softly. “You don’t have to if you don’t think it would help, but that was quite the show.”

Tommy paused for a second, he needed the time to process the man's words. 

“I just, I just got overwhelmed? That happens when I go to a new home. I run sometimes, others I just manage to fuck up. My longest stay in a foster family’s place was a month.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing. Just, didn’t work out is all.” He lied smoothly. He was good at that, lying. It was a skill you picked up after being in the system. “Did Miranda tell you what happened to my mom?”

“She did. She also said you rarely ever speak about it, and that’d it be better to leave alone.”

“So you know she slit her wrists. For God.”

Phil winced at the phrasing. 

“That’s quite violent-”

“It’s what happened. She went crazy, said she had to do it, so she wouldn’t go to hell for having a baby when she wasn’t married. I was 5. She slit her wrists in front of me. I didn’t even know how to use a telephone yet, I just had to sit there until-” Tommy let out a shaky sob. This is the most he had ever disclosed to anyone about his mother’s death. “Until someone came and found her. Landlord, I think. He just sighed like he knew the day would come eventually and called CPS.”

  
  


Phil sat there, waiting for the boy to continue. He didn’t.

“I’m sure that was very traumatic for you, Tommy.”

“Can I go up to my room?” The blonde asked abruptly.

“Ok, just please, tell me if you need anything?”

He nodded and stood, leaving his untouched tea cup on the kitchen table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah look! more notes! i hope tommy's opening up to phil wasnt too rushed, but i also think that he, deep down, knows this cant go on forever and that he needs help. 
> 
> also, a note on language used: im American and southern, so some slang/dialect used will sound un-british and some things will be specific to America (like NPR), but i want this to feel like it could take place anywhere, so ill probably slip in randoms lang terms i use reguraly or that ive heard used.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy thinks about his life up to now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: graphic depiction of suicide, hinted sexual assault/sex trafficking (one line, but it's open to interpretation), mentions of self harm
> 
> so sorry it took so long to get a new chapter out! 
> 
> howre we doing with yesterdays stream? i almost cried my makeup off.

His cuts hadn’t opened, thank God, but they had gotten close. His jeans were grass-stained which bothered him but it’s better than nothing. He was lucky to have good clothes, he chided himself. He knew kids who came into the system with clothes so dirty and ripped it looked like they’d been dragged by a car for a bit. Maybe they had, you never knew with the new kids.

All in all, so far, his day had been pretty shit and it was only one. Maybe he could run again later, after everyone was asleep. 

He was astounded by Techno being able to catch him, not many people could. Being in care meant you were small, never really getting enough to eat, and you were fast. He’d run from 5 out of the 10 homes he’d been placed in. Once he made it across the city before they found him. 

  
  


He’d always been a flight-risk, but somehow Miranda had forgotten to say something about it. He needed to go back, if she’d forgotten to mention something as important as Tommy running, what else would she forget? To pay the bills? To buy them clothes?  _ To feed them? _

He’d try to run again tonight. After everyone was asleep. He was confident he could get far. He could nick someone’s wallet and get a bus back to the city. He would tell Miranda he’d run again, that the boys were weird and that Phil was weirder. 

So he started to pack. He took the new clothes, duh, and stuffed them in his bag. After everything was packed, he laid down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, thinking, trying not to sob.

* * *

  
  


_ “Momma?” He said, walking into the living room. _

_ “Tom, I love you ok?” His mother had said, a knife in one hand, a bible in the other. _

_ “I l-love you too Momma.” _

_ “Thomas, deary, I have to do this. This is the only way love. I’ll go to heaven now, I can have eternal life now. I’ll be forgiven for my sins. For you!” _

_ He didn’t fully understand. Do what? Why did she have those things? _

_ “It’s all gonna be ok!”  _

_ “Yes, love, after I do this, it’ll be ok Tom.” She ruffled his hair, like he loved. He giggled, but was still confused. _

_ She brought the knife to her wrist and made a long, deep cut. Blood started pouring out. He was confused, sad, hurt.  _

_ “Momma? No, Momma what are you doing?”  _

_ She sank to the floor, a smile on her face. _

_ “Finally, fuck, finally.” She was laughing. _

_ Tommy was crying, big wet tears. His teacher would call them “crocodile tears.” That always confused him, he wasn't a crocodile, he was a kid!  _

_ “Mom? Mommy what’s wrong?” He was so confused. Why wasn’t she answering? _

_ He didn’t know how long he was sitting there. What he did know is that his mom wasn’t waking up, no matter how much he begged. He didn’t know how much time had passed when the landlord got there to collect rent. All he knew is that he just sighed and picked Tommy up.  _

_ “Come here, then she’s made a right mess of the place.” _

_ It was true, the floor had blood all over it.  _

* * *

  
  
  


_ His first care home was small. He wasn’t the youngest, Alice was 3. They were friends, but she left. He doesn’t know why, no one would ever tell the small, blond boy. He never found out. He missed her after she left. The older boys were mean to him. They would pull on his shirts and hit him. The only one who was nice was Alexander. He always told him stories at night, about angels and faeries and princesses. They were nice stories, but Alex had to leave eventually. He left with a big scary man who stared at him like Tommy looked at candy.  _

_ He was 13 when he had hurt himself for the first time. After he saw Walker and his candy cane arms, he wondered what it would feel like. If it would make him feel better. And it did, Christ it did, but only for a little, it was never a permanent fix.  _

* * *

  
  


He sat for hours thinking. He was crying, he just didn’t realize it. The noise in his head was just too loud to focus on making sure no-one knew he was breaking. 

There was a sudden knocking on his door.

“Tommy?” It was Techno. “Are you ok? Are you crying?”

“Fuck off.” He spit out, malice lacing his voice. “Go the fuck away you fucking cunt.”

“I’m sure Phil told me I’m not afraid to rock your shit, but since you’re crying I’ll give you a pass.” His deep voice was somewhat calming, it was steady.

“‘M not fuckin’ crying mate. Fuck off.”

“Sure sounds like you’re crying. Let me in.”

“Fuck off, no.”

“Come on dude, make this easy for me. Just open the damn door.”

“Just leave me the fuck alone you bastard.”

“I’m gonna go get Phil if you don’t let me in.”

Now that was the golden ticket.

“Fine, whatever.”

He slowly got up from his bed, stretching out his arms and legs, he hadn’t even realized he’d been curled in on himself. He opened the door and saw the tall, pink-haired boy outside his room, looking worried.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were ok. You were crying pretty loud.”

“I’m fine.” The younger boy said, blushing slightly.

“Why do you have your bag packed?” He responded simply. 

“Just didn’t unpack yesterday.”

_ “ _ Bullshit. You’re running again.”

Tommy faltered. How would he know?

“You can’t. Phil’s already stressed enough as is. If you run, he’ll blame himself.”

The blond boy rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care. I care about the kids at the group home. Miranda always forgets to do things. She probably forgot to give them lunch today.”

“That’s not a problem for you, dude, that’s for the government, as fucked as it is, to deal with. Your job is to not run and make Phil call the fucking cops.”

“Like the cops could find me. I’ve run enough to know all their tricks, they won’t fucking find me this time.”

“So where are you goin’ huh? And how are you getting there? How are you going to get food? It’s not like you have any money.”

“I can nick someone’s wallet dumbass. I’ll take the bus to the city and go back to the care home. It sucks ass, sure, but it’s better than here.”

“As fucking if. If you leave, I’ll tell Phil exactly where you went.”

“Miranda will have to call him dumbass. ‘S how the system works.”

“Then I’ll tell Phil you’re planning on running. I care about him. He’s my dad. I don’t want to see him stressed.”

Tommy relented.

“Fucking fine, just get the fuck out’ve my room.”

“Tell me you won’t run.”

“I won’t run.”

His fingers were crossed behind his back. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy is found out.
> 
> tw: semi-graphic description of self-harm.

Tommy knew running away is harder when someone knows you want to. He knew he shouldn’t, but the safety of the kids is more important than his. 

Tommy decided to do what he always did when he was stressed. He got up and locked the door, preparing himself for some time spent in silence and pain.

He pulled the box out of the back of his desk. A smile crossed his face when he opened it. The cool metal met his fingers.

He slid his sleeves up, taking a second to examine his cuts from the night before. His other arm would do, he decided. 

He slid the metal across his forearm, almost sighing at the release it brought him. One, two, three. Fuck, did it feel good. He knew it was stupid, he knew cutting was dumb and only made him even less loveable, but God did it feel good.

* * *

There was a knocking on his door. How much time had passed? A minute, half an hour? He was never very good at telling time, it always felt so fluid to him. The razor slid from his hand.

“Shit, fuck-”

“Tommy? Are you ok?” Phil. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, just dropped something.”

The door handle jiggled. 

“Why’s the door locked Tommy?”

“N-nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Tommy, will you unlock the door please?”

The boy sighed, defeated. The blood on his arm was starting to hit the floor. 

“Why?”

“I think you know why, Tommy. Let me in and we can sit down and talk, yeah?”

“I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“Tommy, I have a key. I will use it.”

“‘M fine. Leave me alone.”

“Please, Tommy. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

After a few moments of silence, Phil sighed and Tommy heard his footsteps move away from the door.

The boy was relieved. He moved to the wall closest to the window and slowly slid down into a sitting position. His arm hurt. It was still bleeding and he didn’t know how to stop it. 

Suddenly he heard a gasp. He had been so caught up in his head he hadn’t heard Phil come in.

“Oh, Tommy.”

He looked up, tears welling in his eyes. 

“Phil, fuck, no please leave, I can, shit, I can handle it myself.”

“Dad?” Wilbur’s voice floated in.

“Wil, go back to your room.”

“No, what’s-”

And he saw Tommy. Tommy, who was sitting, clutching his bleeding arm.

“ _ Shit,  _ Tommy.”

“Wilbur. He’s not a circus attraction, leave.”

With that, Phil rushed into the room to attempt to comfort the crying blond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is so short! i wanted to update and i know where i want it to go from here, but not how to write phil and tommys conversation. next chapter may take a bit to update, sorry!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy and phil talk. wilbur and techno talk.
> 
> tw: aftermath of self-harm and mentions of suicide

“P-please l-leave Phil,” The boy coughed out wetly, “I can handle it myself, and-and then you can s-send me back to the h-home.”

He was sobbing, his voice quiet and sad.

“Why would I send you back, Tommy?” Phil asked, genuinely confused.

“The last family who caught me like this did. You c-can, I won’t be upset or nothin’” 

“Oh, Tommy. Can I trust you to be alone while I go get the first-aid kit?”

Tommy knew he couldn't go on like this for much longer. He shook his head.

“Thank you for being honest. Will you come with me to the bathroom?”

He reluctantly stood, looking down and following the older man into the small bathroom. As they walked in, Tommy saw Technoblade leave his room, see Tommy clutching his bleeding arm, and walk back into his room. He would’ve laughed at the sight if he hadn’t just been caught self harming.

“You know we have to talk about this, yeah? Get you into therapy-”

“No therapy.” 

Phil stopped digging through the cabinet.

“Tommy, you’re hurting yourself. It’s either therapy or a mental hospital. Take your pick.”

“I won’t like it. I can’t stop it. I’ve tried. Only makes me feel worse, big man.”

“I’ll be here every step of the way.”

As Phil bandaged the cuts, Tommy started to get emotional.

“I just,” he tried to articulate, “I’m just so tired, you know? And Walker and my mom, they seemed so much more peaceful when they- fuck, when they died.”

They sat in silence while Phil thought.

“You’re tired, Tommy. That’s ok. You’ve had a long, hard life. But listen, you deserve happiness. You deserve to be happy. You’re valid in your feelings and it’s ok to feel.” 

“Fuck off, jesus.” The boy tried to sound like he was annoyed, but he was trying not to cry even harder than he already was.

After they sat in silence for almost 20 minutes, Phil spoke up.

“You’ve got to give me all your razors, you know that right? For your safety.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s just, I like having them? Knowing I can have them, really. Calms me down a bit.”

“It must be scary. I know you’ve been holding this in for a long time. We’ll get you help, yeah? Get you someone to talk to.” Phil said, resisting the urge to pull the boy into a hug.

“‘M tired Phil. ‘m so tired.” 

“I know, Tommy, I know. It’s ok to be tired. We’ll work this all out.”

The boy sniffled and looked up, blue eyes shining with tears.

“I just wanna be ok again, ‘s all.”

* * *

  
  
  


Tommy and Phil eventually went back to his room, cleaning up the blood and collecting the razors. Tommy knew he’d be able to get more, he was sure Phil knew as well. He was resourceful, after all.

Dinner was a quiet affair, quiet and tense. What was there to be said? “Tommy hurts himself because he’s witnessed two suicides.” That wouldn’t go very well. 

Neither of the older boys were stupid. They knew what happened. After the whole ordeal, Wilbur had entered Techno’s room without knocking. He was the only person who could do that without getting a book hurled at his head.

* * *

_ "You saw it too.” The brunette said, closing the door behind him quickly. _

_ “Yeah. Phil was takin’ him into the bathroom. Didn’ look too bad but ‘s good Dad stepped in.” The pink-haired boy said, not looking up from his novel. _

_ “There was blood all over his floor, in his room. All red and shit.” _

_ “He’s had a hard life.” _

_ “So have we, Tech! I just don’t understand why someone would do that to themselves, you know?” _

_ “His mom killed herself in front of him. Probably part of why.” _

_ Wilbur was taken aback.  _

_ “How’d you know that you prick!’ _

_ “Heard Dad on the phone with the lady from the care home. She said the landlord found ‘em. ‘Nd somethin’ about a boy named Walker.” _

_ “Well fuck. You think Dad’s gonna take him to our therapist?”  _

_ “Nah, we’re different because we’re twins or somethin’, Tommy’s gotta get his own. Conflict of interest or somethin’.”  _

_ After a beat or two of comfortable silence, Techno spoke. _

_ “You gonna come sit with me or not?” _

_ “Why the fuck would I want to sit with you, pigman.” There was no venom in his voice, besides, he was moving to sit on the bed as well. _

_ “It was scary, Tech.” Wilbur said after getting comfortable. “He was just sat there holding his arm. I-i didn’t mean to see it, but Dad sounded so scared.” _

_ The pink haired boy put an arm around his brother, his twin, his rock.  _

_ “Musta been scary. ‘M sorry. Brenda will be ecstatic though, no school means barely any trauma to discuss.”  _

_ “As if we don’t already have enough trauma.” _

_ They fell asleep like that until dinner, which was understandably later than usual.  _

_ When Phil walked in and saw his two boys curled in on each other, like when they were young, he smiled, something he hadn’t done much that day. The picture he snapped would become his favorite, and his phone’s wallpaper, something he knew both boys would be vehemently opposed to. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this and the last chapter have been shorter :(( schools been hard.
> 
> shameless self promo: https://twitter.com/jubileenotfound heres my twitter :)


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